Aragorn coughed with a violent wheeze, his head lolling to the side of his left shoulder. Consciousness was slowly coming back to him. As his foggy brain awakened, so did his body...to excruciating pain. The drug that had been in his system for over a week had now completely left his system, leaving him vulnerable and very conscious to physical discomfort.
Aragorn's chest felt trampled every time he breathed. His arms, previously numb, tingled dreadfully, as if they were filled with fire. His head pounded. And, it was dark. It was so very dark.
"A...A-Ada..." He whimpered helplessly. Right now, he felt like a lost little boy, and all he wanted was for his father Elrond to find him, and comfort him, and make all his hurts go away. But, Elrond was not here, Aragorn knew that.
Aragorn heard slow, calculated footsteps coming from the darkness on his right. He stiffened, closed his eyes, and tried to pretend to be asleep. The visitor might be friend or foe, but seeing as how the stranger was trying to keep quiet and wasn't urgently calling his name, Aragorn had to guess that it was an enemy, the one who'd put him here. He just prayed it wasn't Orcs! If it was, he was as good as dead right now.
"There's no point in pretending. I know you've regained consciousness." A clear voice spoke with an annoyed tone. Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and faced his captor by the torchlight he held close by. The man was well-built, even under the dark hooded cloak. He had a handsome face with blue eyes and dark, short cut hair. He looked perfectly calm yet intrigued. Aragorn did not recall ever seeing this person before, except for...those eyes. Those blue eyes. He had seen those before! But...where? And...when?
"Where...am I?" Aragorn asked hoarsely, coughing again, shooting agony through his battered rib cage.
"Oh, if you only knew." The visitor chuckled darkly. "If anyone ever finds you, the laugh will be on them!"
"You didn't...answer my question." Aragorn retorted wearily.
"We are inside a very special cave. Well, catacomb really. As I said, a very special one."
"Who are you?" Aragorn asked dryly.
"Aragorn, you know who I am." The visitor chuckled again.
"I'm...afraid I don't." Aragorn shook his head. That was a mistake. His head swayed and he felt extremely dizzy.
"Here, drink this. I may aim to keep you down here for a while, but I don't want you to go off and die on me...yet." The captor held a bowl of fresh water to Aragorn's parched lips. Aragorn chugged it down. How long had it been since the last time he'd drank something? His stomach immediately protested, having been empty and water deprived for so long. His belly cramped up, and Aragorn felt sick. He doubled over but could barely lean down as his arms were still sprawled out above his head, locked in chains. "Dehydration can occur very easily. We'll have to watch that." The captor stated casually. "That is one thing I cannot afford. Had enough?" He asked. Aragorn couldn't drink anymore.
"How long...have I been here?" He groaned.
"Over a week." The stranger smiled.
A week? How was that possible? And where exactly was he? "How did you manage to..."
"Immobilize you for that long? That was easy. I slipped you some Irismilate, but you never realized."
"Irismilate." Aragorn pursed his lips. He knew that drug. Elrond had often advised against using it, unless the situation desperately, absolutely called for it. It was a potent plant, and almost deadly. Many healers rarely used it anymore.
"I see you are familiar with the specimen."
"Who are you?" Aragorn asked through gritted teeth, his concentration barely pulled away from his severe bellyaching.
"They call me the Master." The 'Master' answered smugly.
"Master of what?" Aragorn narrowed his eyes only to wince again.
"You'll see when the time is right." The Master said 'reassuringly'.
"What do you want?" Aragorn finally had control of his shaky voice.
"Expressing my desire, and achieving it, what I truly want, are two very different things." The Master sighed in a lecturing tone. "For starters, I want your throne." Aragorn blinked. His throne? Well, why should that surprise him? He'd already had two assassination attempts on his life during his reign of two years as king. And as a former ranger, he was a very despised man from certain corners of Middle Earth.
Aragorn let out a pained but scornful chuckle. "Right." He feebly smiled.
"I want your people to understand how pathetic you are, and they will come to me for their welfare. What kind of king are you? I heard that you refused to let a foursome of certain halflings bow to you, you the king of men, because of some heroic deed they supposedly did. What the h- is that about? You're no king. You're a sentimentalist. A person like that cannot lead a kingdom. You who have more power than any man alive, and you throw it away. You could do so much more! But you don't have it in you."
"A true king doesn't only look after his people. He identifies with them." Aragorn whispered painfully.
"Well, we'll see what your subjects have to say about that, once they understand the gravity of their great sacrifice. Then they will come running to me, and make me the new king." The Master boasted.
"You're wrong. They are not that stupid, and they fight for what they believe in. They will not be manipulated by the likes of you!"
"Oh, yes they will, Aragorn. Yes they will." The Master grinned evilly. "When I propose the proper leverage to them. There will be no question of that outcome!"
"You...don't know what you're talking about." Aragorn tried to argue.
"No. You don't know what you're talking about, ranger boy. You should've stuck to your previous life with the men of the South."
"I've risen from that, to protect people from ones like you!"
"You have everything backwards, you soft-hearted sentimentalist. I will be the one to save them from you!"
"What...are you-" Aragorn frowned deeply.
"I'd better get some more water." The Master muttered and then walked back off, leaving Aragorn again, alone and in the dank darkness.